The Adventures of Spike and Illyria
by Guardian Erin
Summary: Illyria's time jumps get out of control, and with Spike along for the ride. Will they ever be able to just get home? Do they really want to?
1. Caught in the Wake

**A/N: This story is set after the end of _Angel_, based on the _After the Fall _comics. If you have any questions, PM me and I can fill you in with whatever you need to know.**

* * *

"The rain is back," a woman said, waking William up when she pulled him into her arms. A roll of thunder made the house shudder. She pulled him close against her breast. "Don't be frightened," she whispered, but the words were mimicry. William had not been afraid of storms for a long time, though he had to admit the particularly wild ones could still startle him or put him on edge. He heard terrible stories of men struck by lightning. That sinners were struck down by the hand of God. Heard rumors that it could burn a person from the inside out. But this storm was mild. He had not even woken up, and certainly hadn't called for his maid.

"In my time, the storms were the howling of tempests and air-born demons," his maid said in a strangely dark voice - one that he was not altogether unfamiliar with. "But... perhaps that wasn't this world."

The talk made him shudder. As much as his mother tried to soothe his 'fretful imagination,' he still had nightmares. Visions of death and brutality with such vivid clarity that he could not be convinced it wasn't real. Visions of a beautiful girl with amazing strength, and of a blue woman who crushed him with her power, and a brown haired girl who looked like his maid but wore clothes he couldn't fathom on a modest lady. But nothing in his head was modest and most nights he woke in a tangle of damp sheets. Then there were the dreams of monsters. Vampires, werewolves, and demons of unimaginable variety.

The dreams were hazier each time he woke up, and harder to remember. He was still young, he felt, but almost a man. He remembered his maid being with him since he was very young at his cousin's summer home, yet there were great spans of time when she wasn't in his life at all. He remembered living in strange places and many people dying. Those dreams felt as if they lasted a short eternity and then he would be back in the soft embrace of his maid, who called herself Fred and was dearly loved by his mother. Everything about her made him so confused.

"Mother says the monsters aren't real," he murmured to her. "Don't let her catch you talking about those things." He'd asked her that many times before, he felt.

Fred stroked his hair and pressed her cool hand to his forehead as if he had a fever. Sometimes he thought he did. "Do you think I'll catch the sickness?"

"You're human," she responded, and he felt as if he had already caught his death, and an overwhelming fear of mortality crept into him.

Fred winced slightly, clutching at her bodice as if for at a loss for air. Before he could ask her what was wrong, the world around him seemed to blur and melt all at once, turning and shifting around them. He fell to the floor, as if the bed underneath him had vanished, and it had.

William found himself lying on concrete, in what looked like a parking garage. Only he wasn't a boy in England anymore. His head aches and he lay in shock for a while, his mind reeling from blurred memories.

"You did not die of plague," Fred observed, kneeling down next to him. Her hair was blue, as well as her lips, and she was encased in tight leather armor. He remembered her now - she was not _Fred_. Fred had died and Illyria was in her shell. Illyria, whose power was still so strong that she was prone to making them both skip through time and space.

There was a sense of loss from being in the past for so long. He could remember his boyhood as it had been before – just him and his mother – but now there were new memories of Illyria being beside him and caring for him. Although the new memories were fabricated he knew that they were now what 'really' happened. Illyria had been written into his life permanently.

"How - how long was that?" Spike asked.

"Three years."

"Fuck! Fucking hell!" Spike cursed, burying his face in his hands. "I can't keep doing this, Blue. We need to make it stop. I can't get stuck as some 14-year-old boy again. What if we never come back next time? I can't go through my entire life again. It was hard as hell that first time through, but it worked out okay. We're going to risk fucking something up. If there's anything that _Back to the Future_ taught me, it's that."

"I don't understand," Illyria said. "I enjoyed the experience. It was not unpleasant."

Spike would have blushed if it were possible, mortified by the fact that for three years, Illyria had shared in his awkward preteen years. Worse, he had forgotten over time who she was. Every day it was harder to believe that monsters could exist or that the lifetime he remembered was anything other than a frenzied fantasy. Which life was the dream? He had fallen asleep in her arms, listened to her strange lullabies, shed tears into her skirts and held a schoolboy crush for her. Now those long years were fading like a bad dream he had finally woken up from, when they had been so real.

"I've learned so much from you," Illyria said in a quiet voice, cupping his face with her hand. The leather gloves felt rough and horrible – nothing like the soft touches she had given him before. It only helped to remind him that she was not the beautiful maiden he would sometimes prefer to imagine. She was demon, plain as him.

"Blue, pet," Spike whispered. "I like that you're learning, but I can't keep going through this. My personal life is for me to know about and choose to never ever share."

"I have lived it with you," Illyria said.

Spike sighed and rose up to his knees. "We need to find a place to stay."

Illyria grabbed his arm and assisted Spike to his feet – by nearly lifting him off the ground.

"Thanks." Spike brushed at his coat. When he looked up again, he was dismayed to find that in that short moment, she had transformed back into Fred. "Okay. Just don't do the voice, love."

"As you wish," she responded, her darker voice seemingly out of place coming from that small southern belle. She hooked her arm around Spike's and the two headed towards the nearest exit.


	2. Playing House

The universe seemed to be forgiving that day, because although Spike found himself trapped in daylight hours, the sky was so overcast that he was able to travel outside without being burned. It wasn't a pleasant experience, however - the idea that the clouds could part any moment was making him a nervous wreck by the second.

When he saw the sign, it was like a beacon of safety. Spike ushered Illyria towards the building and gave her simple instructions: go to the door and open it, as if you belong there. Even if you have to break it. It was a relief when Illyria did what he asked of her. He heard the door frame crack when she opened the door despite it being locked. Amazingly, the break wasn't noticeable.

He sighed with relief, inwardly abuzz with worry. Would someone notice right away? Was he only imagining the slight burning sensation on his skin? He yanked the "For Sale" sign out of the ground and brought it inside, and then forced the door shut.

"We won't be able to lock this, I bet," he said. "Get the windows, love?"

Illyria nodded absently and closed every set of curtains that she could immediately find. She ended in the living room, which was partially furnished and seemed to have a theme featuring a color that was somewhere between seafoam green and baby puke.

Here he was, standing in a strange house in a strange place in a strange time with a woman who was so powerful that he had no doubt she could crush his spine just by pinching her fingers together. And yet, she was caressing the curving back of a chair with the curiosity of a child, observing the texture and design. Illyria could have just as easily stormed down the street, flipping cars as she went, but she listened to what he asked of her instead, and stayed by his side as if he were the one who was strong enough to protect both of them.

Maybe he was... because he'd have to be. No one else could be allowed to see them as anything besides a young, beautiful – _human_ – couple.

"Proud new home owners," Spike said, lifting Illyria's hand and kissing it.

She froze for a moment, studying him as if trying to understand all of what was happening just by analyzing his behavior. It was impossible. "Explain this ritual."

"Well, love," Spike began, "ideally a newly married couple will purchase a house together. Though they usually _buy_ one with cash, as opposed to breaking in and hoping that no one important notices."

Illyria gave him an odd look that Spike now knew meant that she had no idea what any of it meant, but was too proud to ask for help – or too confused to even know how to ask.

"We'll have to pretend we're a couple while we're here," Spike explained. "I'm not sure what this world is like, but clearly it's not the post-apocalyptic wasteland you used to get along so well in. So follow my lead, okay? Rule one would be that in public you have to keep your Fred side on."

"Why?" Illyria asked. The question actually startled Spike a little. "My form is not so strange."

"Maybe not but Fred is a little more conventional, to be safe," Spike said. "I promise I'll let you know if this world is compatible with blue. But I'll bet you a hundred quid that the leather getup is not. As much as I love it."

"You never have to hide your appearance," Illyria complained under her breath.

"Wrong," Spike replied softly, a hint of a smile on his lips. "I'm not allowed to let the demon side out, either. You're not the only one who has to put on a little show. Other people wouldn't be so understanding."

Illyria touched his face, remembering his demon appearance, and then dropped her hand in apathy. "Tell me what to do."

"Well, I'll have to play it by ear," Spike said. "If no one notices that we're not supposed to be here, we might be able to stay for a few days, maybe even weeks. If we're stuck here longer than that, we're going to have to come up with something else."

Spike noticed her bitter mood, and quickly closed the gap between them, touching her gently. "Hey. When we're alone together, you can do whatever you like, okay?" He frowned. "What can I do to make you happy?"

Her eyes lifted to his, the icy blue nearly sparkling with sudden interest. The next thing he knew, Illyria's cool mouth was pressed to his lips, her hands at his neck. The kiss was so passionate, yet stuck in a stalemate. Spike had to reel himself back from instinctively taking the kiss further, no matter how his insides ached for it. And at the same time Illyria was still. No part of her pushed the kiss into anything more than just what it was.

"Okay," Spike said when Illyria finally released him. He paused, nearly shivering in wait, but she had made her one move and was done.

"You'll teach me more?" she asked. "I wish to learn... about intimacy. That was what Wesley called it. You would call it... 'shagging'?"

"Uh-uhm, sometime soon, I promise," Spike said, immediately feeling uneasy about promising anything. "There's other stuff you have to learn first." _Like about what it means to love someone_, he thought to himself.

Illyria's face puzzled as she internally debated his response. It only took a few seconds before her unspoken agreement was solidified, and the entire topic was pushed aside in her head.

"Can we go shopping?"

Spike blinked, astounded by the sudden change. "You got it, pet," he said. "We'll feel out the area a bit and our first trip out to explore will be to go shopping. …This will be interesting because I think we're in the sixties."


	3. Apple Pie

A day passed. Illyria woke Spike up sometime early the following morning. "You need to eat," she said, thrusting out a cup that was full of questionable blood. "You must not lose your strength."

Spike swallowed and stared at the blood. "Where did you get this, pet?"

Illyria lifted her chin. "A small vertebrate came onto the back lawn."

Spike gritted his teeth. _Some little girl is missing her cat_, he thought to himself before forcing down a big swig. He made a note to find a new place to live as soon as possible. All it took was someone seeing his dear little 'wife' killing a neighborhood dog with her bare hands to raise a few eyebrows.

"Lyri?" Spike asked after he finally managed to get down all of the mystery blood. "Why is it that when we skip around I'm the one who gets younger or older and you just float around? I'm pretty sure that when I was a boy in England you were still taking that long nap in your sarcophagus."

"We're traveling in your time line, not my own," Illyria responded.

"Maybe we should-" Spike reconsidered what he was about to say, realizing that traveling into Illyria's past either meant joining in her dirt nap for a few millennia or ending up in a world that made the hellish version of Los Angeles they left behind look like a candy factory.

"Should?" Illyria repeated.

The doorbell rang.

"Shit," Spike scrambled to his feet. He grabbed Illyria by the shoulders, pushing her towards the front door. "Listen up, pet. You need to turn on that southern charm right now."

"You're asking me to?"

"Yes!" Spike said under his breath, stopping a few paces behind her for fear of any sunlight that would come through the doorway.

Fred opened the door in a fluid motion, an enormous smile on her face. She was greeted by an equally shiny smile and a very conservatively dressed couple bearing a dish covered in tin foil.

"Good morning neighbors!" the overly perky wife chirped. "I brought you an apple pie."

"An apple pie? Oh my goodness!" Fred graciously accepted the gift. "It smells absolutely divine! Honey, look, our first visitors!"

The wife turned and nudged her husband in the ribs. "I told you someone moved in here."

"I must admit, I didn't even see any moving vans," the husband said.

"We're sending for our things," Spike said quickly, moving forward to wrap around Fred's side.

"Well I'm Dolores and this is my wonderful husband Richard Fellows."

"Nice to meet you," Fred said.

"William and Winifred - Giles," Spike said, twitching a little to actually continue with the suburban pleasantries. The next thing he knew he'd be playing bridge with the neighbors twice a week and Illyria would be knitting.

"You alright, son? You look a bit green about the gills," Richard commented.

"Oh poor dear," Fred frowned, pressing her palm to his forehead. "I thought you were feeling better. I'll make that soup after all." Spike was left speechless. Fred turned to the two neighbors. "Thank you kindly for the pie. I'd invite you in but I'm afraid right now it's still a bit hectic."

"I understand," Dolores said. "You just holler if you need anything."

"We're right across the way," Richard explained, pointing across the street. They exchanged more pleasantries and then the suburbanites finally left.

"Thing is," Spike said after Fred door shut, "I don't remember ever coming to a place like this. Maybe I ate some people while passing through."

"Its boring here," Illyria said, her voice cold once again. Her hand was coated in apple pie filling and she was curiously sniffing it and stuffing fingers into her mouth.

"Glad you think so, cause we're leaving," Spike said. It was only a matter of time before the nosy neighbors started bringing over tuna casseroles twice a week. Or caught Illyria wearing her leather body suit, killing small animals to sustain her blood thirsty 'pet'. That would be lovely to explain to the police.


	4. Take the Wheel

Time to leave.

Spike had found a car that they could snag, out in a secluded area. He had no idea where they were, but he had figured out how to get to the nearest highway, and from there the world was theirs.

Only the plan wasn't working out well. Spike didn't know whether to blame the model of the car, or his terrible misfortune, but he either he'd messed up his hotwire job, or the car didn't even work. How he'd managed to do this years ago while he was drunk off his face was beyond him.

"Teach me how to drive."

Spike lifted his head, nearly smacking the underside of the steering wheel. Illyria stared back at him from the passenger seat, looking passably human except for her unblinking eyes. She didn't seem to register his look of disbelief.

"Are you kidding me, Blue? First of all, you're... you're not exactly someone I want driving."

"I'm an excellent learner," Illyria cut in.

Spike lifted an eyebrow. "Second of all, this really isn't the best time for that. And third of all, I can't even get this bloody thing started."

Illyria's eyes lit up with interest, and she learned towards the driver's side of the car, examining the components that she knew seemed to control the vehicle. "How does it start?"

Spike sighed a little and sat up, stretching out his aching back. "Well, I can usually get the wires under the dashboard to start the car. Maybe this is the wrong model for that..." he trailed off, racking his brain. "Uh, but the proper way to start it is with a key. It goes in the ignition here and you turn it, easy as cake. Except that I don't have-"

Illyria reached over and touched the ignition with her index finger, pushing her fingernail into the keyhole. With a quick jab, the metal wrenched apart and her finger slid into the ignition, completely wrecking the system.

"I – what?" Spike cried out. "Blue, that's not how you-"

She withdrew from the warped metal and held her hand close to what remained of the ignition. A blue spark of electricity arced between her fingertips and into the metal. Instantly, the car's engine came to life.

"That's a neat trick," Spike muttered, his mouth dry. He cleared his throat. "So, uh, you want to learn how to drive?"

He could have sworn he had a heartbeat again when he buckled himself in. Illyria took the driver's seat with too much glee. He could tell she was feeling powerful again, the way she wrapped her hands around the wheel with purpose. There were butterflies in his gut when he told her the basics of how to go, turn and stop.

The car lurched onto the road, and they were gone.


	5. Blue

**A/N: Sorry, I only now realized that I'd left a silly note on chapter 3 about how chapter 4 would be longer. Chapter 4 was going to be this part, until I remembered I had skipped a small chunk in between.**

**THIS is the bigger chapter, and it also contains sexy times. More is being worked on, I assure you. Enjoy!**

* * *

Spike was trying to siphon gas at a rest stop when the dizzying time shift happened again. When the world stopped twisting around him he found himself on the ground, back in the scenic Los Angeles: Hell Edition.

Spike shuddered and rose to his feet. He was grateful that the two suns that constantly ruled the sky were still demonic ones. Illyria stood in the middle of the street, feet planted and fists clenched as she stared off at nothing, her head cocked.

"Home sweet hell, huh pet?"

"This isn't the same world we left," Illyria said. "It's quieter."

It _was_ quieter, Spike realized.

Usually silence only came before something big and nasty attacked. He focused and could still hear quiet, almost gentle noises in the distance.

"Stay close," Spike said to Illyria as he headed for the nearest building that hadn't been destroyed in hellfire. The noises were only slightly louder there. As he continued, Spike realized that they were entering a man-made passageway. Instead of clear streets and slightly cluttered alleys, they were full of junk that created tight, winding passages.

Someone had made this for protection, he realized, and all the barriers wrapped around to protect a central cluster of buildings.

As they moved in, the passageways became dead-end traps of twisted, sharpened metal. Illyria pulled apart a blockade of barb wire and razor-sharp metal scraps, neither of which left so much as an indent on her armored skin.

Spike could smell barbeque and hear a low, intelligent chatter somewhere ahead. The humans were still doing well, Spike realized, with relief. Maybe it was even the Fourth of July. Not even the apocalypse could stop Americans from a good excuse to drink beer and play with fire.

The last barrier was a chain link fence – locked from the inside. On the opposite side was an enclosed yard, surrounded entirely by the chain link fence and then by a taller wooden wall. The yard was a swarm with many people and some children, all of which were tremendously happy despite the fact that they looked malnourished and dying.

"Hey," a guy said, stopping at the fence to speak to them. "You're survivors, too?"

"More, Frank?" another person spoke up, coming over to inspect Spike and Illyria.

"I guess so! Better let them in, this one looks hungry," Frank gestured at Spike. "Must be new."

"How do you like your brains?" the other one asked Spike, holding a plate in his hand. "I know you might be wanting them fresh and raw but that'll actually make you sick."

"You're zombies," Spike realized, clutching at the fence.

"Nobody says 'zombies' anymore," the nameless one said. "We're undead citizens."

"Is that cool with you?" Frank asked.

Spike looked at the food by the grill, trying to discern what it was – or more precisely, what it was from. "Are you eating people?"

"Nope! We eat animals," the unnamed one said. "It was hard at first, what, with the entire trade industry kind of crumbling when whole hell thing happened. But once some enterprising demons took hold of operations, the law of supply and demand kicked in. We might be undead, but we still have morality, you know. What are you?"

"Vampire."

"Do vampires eat zombies?" Frank wondered aloud.

"I drink blood, mate," Spike said. "Zombies – er, undead don't have blood."

"Hey, you're right. What about her?"

"She doesn't eat anything."

"Cool." Frank unlatched the fence and let the two inside. "Sure I can't get you something to eat? We might have something fresh I can drain into a cup."

"No, thank you," Spike declined. "This may sound odd, but we're new to this territory – is it safe here?"

"Well, we have a few barriers in place just in case," Frank said. "There used to be some really bad anti-undead violence here, but things have calmed down a lot. Trouble is, we have to deal with other Lords trying to claim rights over us. I guess that means we're not totally safe. We want to be independent, but truth is, we wouldn't fight anything unless there was an army of demons planning to eat us. We don't heal. We might be hard to kill, but a lot of us have issues with the possibility of being maimed."

"I think I can help," Spike said. "Not with the healing, though, sorry 'bout that. My girl and I are good fighters. It's what we do."

"I don't know what to say. Fighting isn't really what we do here," Frank said.

"But it's what Illyria and I specialize in. What I'm getting at is, we need a safe place to stay," Spike said, "and this little burrow is amazing. Not sure if I'll be able to find a better place than this, and I don't care to take any chances looking for one. But I want to be useful to you. I can help."

"Geez, you only had to ask," Frank grinned. "There are plenty of apartments in the buildings that surround us. They're all secure. You say your girl doesn't eat, but our food supply always comes with blood anyway. If you eat it, that means less waste."

"So we can stay?"

"Of course you can," Frank nodded. "As soon as I opened the gates for you, you were invited to stay with us. Having a sort of protector around is just a bonus."

"I... wow. This is probably the nicest place I've ever been to."

"You're very welcome," Frank said. "I should go let the others know the good news. And you should go find your girlfriend."

"I... think I can help you with that," Spike said. "Illyria, it looks like I found something for us – Illyria, do _not_ put that in your mouth."

* * *

Zombies were, surprisingly, very peaceful. It was impossible to rally any of them into even a small militia, so any fighting that was necessary had to be done by Spike, or Illyria. It turned out that the zone the 'undead citizens' were in was mostly deserted because of the zombie virus that had broken out once hell was unleashed. The virus had stopped spreading after only a few days, but violence had been rampant for much longer than that.

Once a champion for the endangered citizens came to light, the area was for the most part abandoned. Others who saw the zombies as opportunity for slaughter...

"I took its spine," Illyria said, clenching a bloody fist. "I crushed its lifeless carcass under my heel and left it to fertilize the earth."

"Thanks, pet," Spike said, sitting at the edge of his bed. One less ugly demon he had to worry about preying on his flock. "You can do whatever you like, now. Just keep an eye out for trouble, and don't harass the zombies, please."

He laid down and shut his aching eyes, only to feel the bed depress next to him with extra weight.

"No kiss goodnight?" a light southern drawl teased his ears.

"Don't do the voice," Spike scolded firmly.

There was a silent pause, and Illyria wiggled closer to him, her arms draping over his chest. He opened his eyes to Fred's image, her brown hair tousled and framing her beautiful face, her body bare to him.

"Christ," Spike muttered, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her, if only to cover her nudity.

Illyria grabbed his jaw and kissed him hard, her lips pressing strangely against his. Despite her energy and assertion, she simply didn't know how to kiss, but still managed to leave him speechless.

"Lyr – huh, hi," Spike mumbled when she let go of his head.

"I know you lust for me," Illyria said, settling on his lap and slowly rolling her hips forward. Spike scrambled to grab her waist and hold her still, make her stop, even though his entire body now ached for her. He couldn't resist.

"Not like this," Spike murmured, pleading. He moved closer to press his lips against her cheek, like a promise. "I want you to be blue."

When he moved his head back again, he saw the inky blue color seep back into her skin, from her lips to her thighs. He had tasted the richness of her blue lips before, but the rest of her skin had always been hidden from him with her leather suit. Until that moment, Spike never knew that he had a strong curiosity to find all the places that the color touched. The deep blue spread down her sternum and over her breasts, and Spike leaned forward to kiss the place where her soft flesh swelled. She smelled like an ocean, and her hands grabbed at his hair, forbidding his lips from leaving her skin.

His kisses spread, and his hands played lightly on her skin, overwhelmed by how delicate she felt. He could feel her chest rise and fall under his fingertips, and her muscles move under the skin when she laid down on the sheets. She felt like a slick heaven on the inside, cool but inviting, her muscles almost unbearably strong around him. Illyria made a sound of content when he finally found his release inside of her, his body trembling and mouth sucking hard at her neck.

"There," Illyria said when his trembling stopped and he went back to placing worshipful kisses on her body. She reveled in the worship, until his mouth closed in on the place where he had entered her. "What are you doing?"

Spike lifted his head, peering at her from between her thighs. He licked two fingers and slid them to where his tongue had been, massaging gently but sending Illyria into a tremulous fit. "You didn't come yet."

"You-" Illyria sounded breathless, although Spike doubted that she needed to breathe any more than he did.

"Shh," Spike hushed, beginning to understand. "Let me take care of you."

"I don't need-" Illyria stopped, losing her words as his mouth returned to her, the combination of tongue and lips and fingers doing strange things to her body. She clutched at the sheets around her, and the pleasurable torment went on for what felt like hours on end, with several waves of unbearable pleasure crashing over her body until she was finally left feeling almost weak and drained.

"God," Spike said, finally climbing up her body just enough to lay his weary head on her stomach. "I thought Buffy could go and go but you make the Energizer Bunny look like a flash in the pan."

A hand grabbed onto his hair, not for the first time that night, and Illyria pulled Spike up to seek his full attention. "You are mine," she said. His blue eyes watched her for a while, then closed and he nuzzled against her stomach once again. Satisfied, she released him, and allowed him to sleep for a while.

* * *

There was a blue mark on his stomach.

Spike noticed it two days later, while taking a shower. It was the size of a thumbprint, and was offset to the left of his navel. A bruise, he thought, but the color was too vibrant, and didn't fade over time. The contrast of color on his flesh looked like blue ink spilled onto parchment. Despite how he scrubbed at his skin, it wasn't a stain that could be removed.

* * *

Illyria returned to his bed the following night, allowing him to kiss and please her for hours before finding his own pleasure with her. He found that she was eager to hold him and cradle him to her breast, especially when he reminded her over and over again that she was a goddess to him.

* * *

The color spread.

* * *

A week later, the world shifted again.

Spike and Illyria in the gated yard with their new flock when the sky darkened. The grass turned to concrete and their surroundings changed into to slate gray sky scrapers. The undead citizens around them remained, wearing nicer clothing, and Spike wearing a strange shirt of futuristic material. Illyria had become an enormous, Lovecraftian mass of deep blue tentacles. The air felt like electricity. Spike stepped towards her, and hesitantly touched one of the ancient symbols that crisscrossed her primordial body.

As soon as his fingers grazed over the symbol, the world shifted again and returned to normal, much to the relief of Spike's flock. Illyria was once again in her humanoid form, and she left, looking spooked.

"What was that?" Frank questioned.

"Don't worry about it," Spike said. "But, listen, I'm going to get Lorne to send out someone who can look after all of you. I don't think I should be in charge anymore."


	6. Prisoner

**A/N: I bet y'all think I've been neglecting this. Guess again. I have over 28,000 words ready to fling at you awesome readers, and this is just the first 3,000 or so. Can you dig it? **

**Well, the delay was because where I left off and where I struck inspiration like 'whoa' didn't exactly mesh up and flow from one point to the next. I only just now wrote a tiny transition to get me from point A to B. So apologies if the story seems to change a lot. The writing has been aloof, skimming the surface of Spike and Illyria's adventures, but this time we're gonna dig in deep and really follow where Spike ends up next. Welcome to the meat of the story so far. I think you guys will like where this is heading. No fears!**

**And yeah, I might have 25,000 more words of goodness, but I'm gonna have to ration it out, maybe a chapter a week. Sorrrry but I don't want to overwhelm you darlings all at once, okay? At least you can expect steady updates for a while, hopefully about one a week if I can wait that long.**

**Feedback would be the life of me, and would probably encourage me to upload a little more frequently if I got a lot of it. Just sayin'. Enjoy.**

* * *

Time changed again, as Spike had anticipated and feared. He barely had time to get the zombies ready for his leave before the switch happened again.

He wasn't sure what he had expected to encounter, but he had expected something relatively _new_. Instead Spike found himself chained and knee-deep in the corpses of people he couldn't save.

It was a nightmare all over again, only this time he didn't wake up from it. The days stretched out, time punctuated only by Non's visits to burn, tear, cut, whip, and generally abuse his flesh. Illyria was gone again, and that was what unsettled him. He thought she had learned this time, that she would escape whatever prison Non had her in and rescue him. Instead, time dragged on, and... and he was pretty sure that this was taking much longer than last time. Much longer.

Illyria came to him.

Spike was sure that he could smell Non's blood on her, but it might have been his mind craving revenge like a fever craving a cool touch. He shifted in his chains, arching up to meet her. She sank down, her hands caressing over him. She opened his jeans, took him inside, and _yes, he needed this_ and being chained was just a bonus for the moment, even though he would rather grab her and pummel her into the floor.

She returned to him again and again, somehow. He noticed her leave and return, noticed the scene seem to replay in a loop, only different each time. Spike could have sworn he was only dreaming of this half-rescue, but her body was real, and the increasing agony of not being freed from his prison was wearing on him.

He wasn't sure how much time passed – hours or days. Time seemed to stretch between them like warm taffy, doing strange things that left him out of sorts and dizzy. Illyria didn't break his chains, as if unwilling to release him. Control had passed, he realized. He was now Illyria's prisoner.

She didn't come to him for sex anymore, or other sort of release. Her body held his, and she looked at him with sad eyes.

"Spike..."

He didn't want her to speak, because only bad things would come out of this.

"I'm sending you home," she said. She sounded like Fred, but not, all at the same time. He didn't like whatever she seemed to mean by this. "We both need to go home."

Spike shook his head. He just needed to be freed, and given something real to measure the time by while he put himself back in order.

Illyria left him.

He waited, always waiting, but she didn't come back again, and his chains were still there, and the stench of decomposing flesh was once again all that filled his senses.

He was starting to doubt her, starting to doubt himself and everything else when he felt it again. Pinpricks of anticipation in his spine that told him things were changing on some unobservable level.

The world was ready to shift again.

There was a tingling in the air that tipped Spike off. It felt like a low, buzzing current of electricity that hummed against his skin. Spike lifted himself up as much as the chains would allow, welcoming the shift like a savior.

Strangely enough, there was no visible sign of it yet. Usually he didn't know a shift was happening until he saw the world melt and twist around him in Lovecraftian ways.

He managed to get onto his feet, and actually hesitated, wondering if the sensation was false. The chains were still solid against him, yet he could perceive the slightest sort of trembling in the very structure of the metal, as if its very molecules were wanting to come apart.

_Please, Blue..._ Spike silently pleaded, ready for this horrible living flashback to be dead and buried. The thing about the past was that it was supposed to be over with forever. Memories as dark as his shouldn't be relived. And since when did he start praying to Illyria like his own personal god?

Suddenly, the world shifted, like a dam finally bursting. The chains finally fell apart, literally turning to air while the entire world seemed to eat itself. A wave of relief washed over him, knowing now that it had been no false alarm. Being able to sense them coming a few seconds in advance would help him greatly. It still didn't make him able to resist the dizzy spell that came from the change in time and space.

The gloom of the dungeon dissipated to a more vibrant nighttime darkness. Spike felt relief from the dark, open skies, and let himself sink onto the ground while he waited for the shift to finish and his dizziness that came with the travel to subside. It was like blurry vision coming into view, and Spike actually rubbed his eyes to see if that would help speed up the process.

In another second, it was done, although it took a while for that electric feeling to dissipate. He touched the ground beside him, and stroked soft grass until the sense of quivering molecules faded away, and everything was solid and normal again. Normal being extremely relative.

Time to start again, Spike knew. He rose to his feet. He had only a few minutes to assess his situation and figure out how best to survive. On the plus, he could immediately tell that he wasn't in sodding apocalypse-torn Los Angeles for the moment, nor was anything in the immediate area around him, nor was he surrounded by tools used to rip apart his flesh. All of those first indicators made him relieved.

"Where the hell is Blue?" Spike wondered aloud. He realized his voice was especially quiet. "Illyria!" Spike yelled out, turning all about to try to find a glimpse of her. If she were here, he could shake her, maybe wind her up... anything to try to skip over this. "Blue? Sodden hell."

No Illyria. He could feel her absence. It seemed like it stung him in the empty chambers of his still heart. On top of that emptiness, there was a slight tingle of fear. He relied on her too much, he knew. Being away from her in Non's little dungeon had been a bit terrifying as well, but here... she wasn't here at all. She was serious about sending them both home. This was... Sunnydale.

This wasn't home.

Spike sank to the ground again, and turned that thought over in his mind, the guilt creeping in. Okay, it was. It really was. And that made it so much worse. He couldn't live through this again. Being a kid in England was one thing. His mother did love him. He could almost forget. But in Sunnydale, there was nothing here. He'd already played this game and knew how it ended.

This cemetery was so empty, he didn't want to leave it. Didn't want to face the rest of this living memory. He buried his face in his hands and tried to push away all of the painful thoughts fighting for dominance. If he sat still long enough, in the dark, he could almost make his head completely empty. He could stop feeling anything. Not let a certain name creep into his-

"Spike?"

_Shit_. Spike swore his dead heart came back to life for a second. He'd not heard her footsteps coming. How could he be so stupid? He reflexively looked up to be sure, but didn't need to from the start. Buffy. Damn, he swore his heart thudded again. He buried his face again, hoping childishly that she'd disappear.

"What are you doing out here?" Buffy stared at the vampire with confusion. Spike being weird was one thing, sure. Spike sitting in the middle of the cemetery, with... was he...? "Are you crying?"

"No." Spike immediately heard the betraying inflection in his voice.

"Uh-huh." Buffy sounded unconvinced. "Is this a Drusilla thing again? You shouldn't be out here."

"I don't want to be," Spike responded, making sure his words were distinct to her. This was so far from Drusilla, he could have laughed at her. Buffy couldn't understand how it felt like a hundred lifetimes had passed for him since he'd last been here. She would call it a dream if he did try to tell her. Christ, it could actually have been a dream, knowing Sunnydale.

"You should get home then," Buffy suggested. She watched him silently shake his head, and glanced up at the sky nervously. "Spike..." he didn't budge. "You're drunk," she decided, although she didn't smell liquor on him. "You're coming home."

"I don't want to go home," Spike said. He didn't have the heart to really fight her when she grabbed his arms and tried to haul him to his feet.

"I meant my home," Buffy said. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I can't let you do this. You're more valuable to me if you aren't a pile of dust. So come on... I'll find something to sober you up."

* * *

"Mom's away on business," Buffy said as she entered her home. "But Dawn's sleeping, so be quiet or else." She turned to see Spike paused at the threshold. "I think you're still invited in. Come on, before the sun rises."

Spike glanced at the dark sky, disbelieving that it could be so soon to morning, but entered the home. Stepping inside was so eerie. Everything was familiar and strange at the same time.

"What time is it?"

"Five A.M. Duh."

It didn't feel like it. The loss of his sense of time rather chilled Spike. He'd gotten too used to those demonic suns that never set. He couldn't feel the natural rhythm of night and day anymore. A bit longer outside and he'd have been hard pressed to find shelter from the morning sun. Which brought a new question to mind...

"What were you doing out so late? Or early?"

Buffy gave Spike a familiar 'I'm-not-even-going-to-answer-that' look, but he didn't show any sign of dropping the question. Finally, the slayer rubbed her temple. "It's none of your business. Hey! What was up with I_you/I_ in the cemetery? You look like crap."

"You look a little haggard yourself, Slayer," Spike responded. He knew he looked awful – torture did that to a guy – but he could see the sleeplessness in her eyes.

"You'd better watch what you say, mister," Buffy warned him. "I could put you back outside and laugh at you from the window."

"Alright." Spike held up his hands, keeping a small smirk in check. "I'm your willing prisoner for the day. Do I get gruel?"

"I don't have any blood," Buffy said, "but go wait for me in the kitchen. And take your shirt off. Eww, don't make that face at me, you big perv. SO wasn't what I meant. And don't bleed everywhere."

The blonde left, and Spike went to the kitchen as he had been told. He'd made a face? Spike rubbed at his jaw. He hadn't meant to. He was... over Buffy. As "over" as he ever could be. Why was it so easy to slip back into banter with her, then?

He tried to hop up onto the counter to sit, as he had once before. The attempt set off something painful in him, and Spike hissed, planting a hand on the counter until the ache subsided. He found a chair and sat down in that instead. His legs and hips felt stiff from the prolonged abuse. In attempting to take off his shirt, he realized that the rest of him wasn't faring much better. His arms protested feebly, not wanting to rise over his head, and the shirt stuck for a moment.

"Need help?" the shirt was pulled the rest of the way off, freeing him up. Spike would have blushed if he could, but as it was he could hardly mumble a thanks.

"Geez, something got you," Buffy commented, dropping an armful of supplies on the kitchen counter. She uncapped something, and poured it over a wad of cotton, which she then used to clean a burn wound. Spike tried and failed not to flinch as the wound started stinging.

"Big baby," Buffy admonished lightly, but was more careful as she continued. She wiped at all the wounds she cared to find, following the curve of his spine first. When she ran out of unspoken excuses, she started on his chest, working her way down his belly, where she stopped.

"What is that?" Buffy stared at an inky blue mark on Spike's stomach, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

"A bruise," Spike said, also staring at the mark, which was roughly the size of a golf ball. "Nice color, huh?" He played completely dumb, withholding the urge to react otherwise. It was growing, slowly, but surely, and he didn't know what it meant.

"Huh." Buffy went back to cleaning him up. She changed the cotton several times before she finished, discarding previous bloodied ones in the trash until she'd succeeded in making the vampire 10% less icky. "So?"

"What?"

"Don't 'what?' me. You got the crud beat out of you. Usually that wouldn't be too noteworthy, but you're not even whining about it like usual. You're all quiet, and THAT gives me the shivers. Whatever did this had to be bad, and I want to know what I'm up against before I meet it myself."

"Honestly, it's nothing that you have to worry about," Spike said. He cleared his throat, trying to find his old swag. "I, uh, got into a fight with some big ugly bugger is all. If you think this is bad, you should see him. What's left of him."

"Uh-huh." Buffy heard the blatant lie, but decided not to call it out for now, or question the bruises on Spike's wrists. "So then that brings me back to the other thing. You can usually take a punch, or a sword, even. So why were you crying?"

"I wasn't."

"Oh, okay, then. Your eyes were just sweating. You know, I could easily get Willow to put a truth spell on you, and then ask you the most embarrassing things I can think of."

"I was seeing a girl. And she left. Happy?"

"I thought you hated Harmony. Why do I have the feeling you're not talking about her?"

"'Cause I'm not. You never met her before, and you probably won't," Spike said.

"Wow." Buffy laughed a little, but tried to give Spike a sincere look. "I think you fall too easily, lover boy. You were with Harmony last I knew. Where'd you meet this one, a strip club?"

"We have history together."

"Oh, I get it now. An old flame." Buffy scrunched up her nose. "I can't imagine who would date you. "

"Who indeed, considering she's done with me now," Spike answered.

"Eww, don't get all heart broken on me. That's just too weird. We're supposed to be mortal enemies, you know, not bosom buddies. Ech! Forget I said that last part. There'll be plenty of other evil fish in the sea for you."

"Gosh, Slayer. Hearin' that from you just gives me the strength to see another day. So to speak. Do you mind?" Spike waved his hand at a window, which was getting a little too bright with the glow of a morning sky. He gave her a well-practiced pout.

"You're lucky I pity you," Buffy reminded him before she went and drew the curtains.

"Can the pitiful creature take a bath, for old time's sake?" Spike asked, keeping up a slight pout. "I'm just all a mess is all, and I'd hate to go fouling up your nice place."

That manipulating little...! But he had a point. Buffy sighed. "I think I have one of Angel's old shirts in my room somewhere. Yours is..."

"Exploded."

"But if Dawn wakes up, I'm blaming you. I'm going back to bed." Buffy moved to gather up the medical supplies she'd brought down, but Spike stopped her with a wave of his hand, and collected them himself.

"I remember where they go. 'Sides, I'll need them for a bit after I'm done."

"Okay." Buffy let him take the items and headed upstairs before he even left the kitchen. She didn't want to think about when exactly he'd been in her bathroom before to memorize where she put things. Instead she went to her room and began trying to find the shirt she had mentioned. It had been previously forgotten, and she was happy to get rid of it. Perfectly happy. Where the hell was it?

On the third search of her closet, Buffy found it, slightly rumpled in a corner. Spike wouldn't mind the wrinkles.

The shower was already running when she stepped out into the hallway. She cracked open the door, tossing the shirt inside, and left just as quickly. It was bed time, the time of bed, and she was not going to think about icky, wet, naked vampires in her shower.


	7. Turning Tables

Buffy woke later in the day. She stretched a little, and then sat up, and swore aloud when she saw Spike in her room. "Jeez, you got a death wish?"

"Sorry. I went to the couch and all, but couldn't sleep."

"And instead of raiding the fridge, or turning on the TV, you decided to come into my bedroom and watch me sleep why?"

"I was trying to see the appeal in a certain book series involving sparkly vampires," Spike said. "Still don't make sense to me."

"I'm going back to my 'Spike's totally wasted' theory," Buffy said, mostly to herself. "Have you completely lost your sense of what vampires do NOT do? Camping in an open area is one of them. Inviting themselves to a Slayer's bedroom is another."

"Well, your sister's up," Spike said, in a hushed voice. "S'pose if I went to the couch now, she'd have a million and a half questions to ask both of us."

Buffy clenched her jaw. "Ihateyou," she muttered as she got out of bed. "I should stake, you I really should," she said to herself as she went to the door and peeked her head out for signs of her sister. She didn't see Dawn, but sure enough, heard her clinking around downstairs.

"Why don't you, then?" Spike asked her.

"Because Dawn likes you. Last time I joked about killing you in front of her, she gave me hell for a week. If I actually did it, I'd probably have to fear for my life. Keeping you around is a whole lot easier to deal with."

"Oh. Well then, I'll just go say hello," Spike decided, making to go past her.

"No!" Buffy hissed, pushing Spike away from the door. "I'd never hear the end of it. You aren't here."

"Okay," Spike said. He stood still, reminding Buffy with a pointed look that in all reality, he _was_ there, so what was the plan? It was all a little amusing to him – Spike being Buffy's big secret again. Can't let the others know that the slayer might even talk to him without punching him in the face between sentences. He wondered how long it'd be until the slayer was doing the 'jump-Spike's-bones-and-hate-yourself' routine. He'd probably skip town before then.

They heard Dawn come up the stairs, and Buffy silently shut her door and locked it, giving Spike a glare that meant 'Keep your mouth shut.' They both startled when Dawn knocked on the door.

"Buffy, are you up yet? I've only got like half an hour before school."

"I'm getting dressed," Buffy answered through the door. She glared at Spike again, not enjoying his silent laughter.

"Well, hurry up."

They waited for Dawn's footsteps to retreat.

"Go to sleep," Buffy jabbed Spike in the chest. "If anything in my room is touched – if I even suspect that you were looking at anything in here – I will stake you and tell Dawn you moved to Zanzibar. And as soon as the sun sets, I want you gone. This is going under the mental file, 'Never Happened'. Capiche?"

He gave her a mock salute, which Buffy took as a sign that he was, as she suspected, totally out of his mind. She rolled her eyes and left, making a mental note to remind Spike where they stood when she saw him again by punching him repeatedly in the face. Just that small resolution gave her a little boost for the day.

* * *

Spike dreamed that he was back in Non's little torture cell, chained up and forced onto his knees once again. This time things were worse. This time Non didn't bother to torture him. This time she had captured his new flock, the undead citizens. She couldn't drain their life force like with living humans. Instead she pulled them apart, piece by piece, and made sure every agonizing scream was drawn out for Spike to hear.

His wrists felt raw from pulling so hard against the manacles. Non was careful not to kill the zombies, only sever non-vital body parts. She was crafting a necklace out of their fingers. Of all this, it was her smug grin at him that made him rage and pull so hard against the chains, he felt his wrists pop. The pain didn't stop him, only made him pull harder. Broken hands or not, he would end her. This time he would make sure to thoroughly smash in her face until there was no more smirk.

The manacles couldn't hold him. An arm finally came free, and then a hard blow hit him square in the face, waking him.

Spike opened his eyes to a very annoyed Buffy, who was still holding one of his wrists to the bed in an iron-like grip, and had just recaptured the other one with the fist that punched him.

"You done?" Buffy asked him, as if he had brain damage.

Spike didn't speak, but couldn't hide humiliation from his face. Buffy let go of him, leaving his wrists sore, and that was when he fully appreciated how strong her hold on him had been. He sat up slowly, but still felt the dream clinging to him like old spiderwebs – irritating and real, but not quite tangible enough to fight.

"I thought you'd have left hours ago," Buffy said to him. "I didn't even bother to check when I got home, until I heard you screaming."

More embarrassment, this time for two new reasons – that he'd slept so long that the room was already pitch black, except for light from the hallway, and that he'd been screaming in his sleep like some wuss.

Spike did his best to tr y to regain his dignity. "Did I scare the bit?"

"No," Buffy said. "Willow and Tara took her to the Magic Box a while ago."

"Oh." Spike noticed for the first time that Buffy was sitting on the opposite side of the bed. He and the Slayer, alone and in bed together. He stared off at a corner of her room.

"Geez, I'd ask if you wanna talk about it – but I don't even wanna know what vampires have nightmares about," Buffy said. "No offense. So you wanna go to the Magic Box with me instead? You don't have to, but you can't stay here, seriously. I'm already gonna have to wash my sheets to get the Spike smell out."

"Uh-huh," Spike scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up, stretching as subtly as possible. "I'll pretend like you won't be bundling them up and saving them as a keepsake."

"Eww! I'm not gross like you," Buffy said, but nearly hopped to her feet. "Maybe I shouldn't have invited you to follow me."

"Too late. Magic Box sounds good. The gang all there? Grumpy Giles, Annoying Anya, Pain-in-the-ass-Harris?"

"I'd bet money on it," Buffy answered. She made to head out the door, but stopped herself in the doorway and frowned at Spike. "I was planning on going on patrol first. Slay a few vamps. You wanna meet up, or...?"

"I could really use a good killing," Spike said, trying to hold back any sign of excitement over her offer.

"Oh, goodie!" Buffy actually grinned, with all of the joy of a girl about to go shopping with her best friend. "Stakes are a must, but what do you think – axe or swords tonight? I've also got a voulge that needs to be broken in."

They settled on weapons, Buffy grabbed a jacket, and they headed out together, looking for trouble. They found it easily.

Buffy reminded him of Illyria – graceful and strong as she fought. She easily beat the tar out of any demon that was stupid enough to take her on.

Unlike Illyria, Buffy had more passion in her fighting, and Spike realized that he'd missed her quips, and the sound of her heart racing.

Unlike Illyria, Buffy held herself back. She fought too cleanly, limited by her vulnerabilities that Spike had never noticed before. He found himself noticing several moments where Illyria would have simply ripped out the creature's heart with her bare hands and ended the fight.

Unlike Illyria, her thoughts didn't turn back to him when their enemies were finally dead. Her mind went to the people she loved.

"I think that's all for tonight," Buffy said. "Wonder what the others are up to. Dawn better be finished with her homework by now."

She didn't wait for him, just started walking off. Spike dragged his feet for a while, and then decided to suck it up and try to shake off his brooding mood. He had the advantage of knowing all the ins and outs of Sunnydale and the Scoobies. Things could be different, maybe. He could do better. Illyria couldn't ever love him, but Buffy almost had. If he got half a chance again, this time he wouldn't fuck things up.

He was so quiet as they walked, Buffy actually stopped at one point to see who was really following her. She told him as much, commenting on his weird behavior.

"Didn't expect you to miss the sound of me voice, Slayer," Spike teased, trying to slip into his old role. He was a bit stale. "I'll be sure to keep up the chatter just for you, pet."

"Forget I said anything!" Buffy huffed, and loudly lamented bringing up the topic while Spike did his best to keep up an endless stream of babble. They finally reached the shop, and Buffy shot Spike a withering glare before entering, with the vampire hot on her heels.

"-don't know why you're so upset. You're the one who asked for it."

"I didn't ask for anything," Buffy grumbled. "All I did was point out how you've been a weirdo all day!"

"I'm beginning to think you're a bit attached to me."

Dawn was the first to notice. "Oh my God. Guys?"

"Spike," Willow said, but he ignored her greeting, enjoying his old game with Buffy too much.

"Attached? Maybe you've grown on me," Buffy said, "like a _fungus_. A gross, irritating..." she trailed off, following her friends' wide stares.

"Buffy," Willow took a step towards Tara, gripping her girlfriend's hand protectively. "Who is...?"

Buffy turned wildly for a moment, and then took a step away from Spike. "Okay, this is weird. Someone tell me what the hell is going on."

Giles adjusted his glasses. "Where did he come from?"

"Him? Where did yours come from?" Buffy countered, pointing.

"Dead boy's been bothering us all evening," Xander said.

That was when Spike noticed the smoke in the air, mingling amongst all of the other musty herbal scents in the shop. He found himself... staring at himself. If he hadn't had his experience with the First, he wouldn't have believed that the other man was a spitting image of himself. The doppleganger was behind the shop counter, dressed in black with a leather duster, a cigarette in his hand. Judging by Giles' defensive stance, he'd probably been trying to nick from the till when he and Buffy came in. It was all eerily similar, except for one thing.

"Why is his hair that color?" Xander asked.

"Me? He's the one-" Spike didn't even know what to say. His doppleganger had brown hair shaved into a short, fuzzy cut.

"Okay, what did you do?" Buffy pointed her voulge at the brown-haired Spike behind the counter.

He looked at her, pausing before his cigarette went to his lips again. He frowned at her a little. "What?"

"Don't play stupid. What spell did you cast?" Buffy pointed at the blonde Spike near to her, but kept her eyes on the Spike she was familiar with. "What's your scheme?"

"I. Don't. Know. What. You're. Talking. About," the brunette Spike said slowly, but scrunched his brow as he took a slow drag from his cigarette. The guy beside her seemed creepily familiar. He didn't like it.

"You're kidding me, right?" Buffy looked to her friends for help. "Why are there two Spikes?"

"I dunno, but I vote that we stake at least one of them," Xander spoke up. "One is bad enough to deal with. And it'll be fun."

Spike choked on his cigarette a little, and then tried to laugh, but it was mixed with coughing. "Hate to break it to you, but that wanker doesn't look anything like me."

His denial made things all the stranger for the group of humans.

"I thought he just changed his hair," Buffy said. "He's been hanging around with me all day."

"So this happened quite a while ago," Giles concluded. "Willow, you didn't-?"

"N-no!" Willow quickly shook her head. "I – we – haven't done any spells. Well, we have, but-"

"-but nothing that would be big enough to do this," Tara added. "It'd take big magic, trust me."

"Maybe Toth is back," Anya said. She perked up, grinning. "Can we ask him to do Xander again?"

"Ahn!"

"This is serious, guys," Buffy said, watching the blonde Spike like a hawk as he moved around the shop.

"Trust me, I'm taking this seriously," Xander said. "Having one Spike around was bad enough."

"Hey!" their Spike scowled. "Well, he's a handsome devil if I do say so myself. The more the merrier."

Xander made theatrical gagging noises while Dawn smiled to herself, trying not to chime in her agreement.

"Please, you two," Giles said to Xander and Spike, "can we stop with this childish act? Buffy is right, we need to figure this out – Hey! You blimey thief," he swore at the blonde Spike, who had just broken a lock off of an ancient chest and was pillaging a bottle of port. "How did you even know that was there?"

"You keep liquor hidden in the shop?" Anya asked.

Giles sighed as Spike ignored him, drinking straight from the bottle. "That was very expensive."

"I like the cut of your jib," the brunette grinned.

"Not sharing." He suddenly needed to be very, very drunk.

Spike scowled and cursed a little at the blonde's refusal to play nice.

"Maybe he's a robot," Xander suggested unhelpfully.

"Oh, I wanna hear this theory," the blonde mocked, grabbing a chair and straddling it, the bottle dangling from his hand. "Do go on."

"No, he's definitely real," Buffy said. "Last time I checked, robots don't bleed. I'm more convinced that somehow Spike got split in two. What did we learn last time?"

"Well, Toth's goal was to split Buffy in two," Willow recalled. "He wanted to kill you."

"Right," Xander agreed. "He would've taken out your weaker half."

Buffy nodded. "It was supposed to split me into one strong half, all Slayer, and a weak half, all girl. So for Spike... demon and human?"

The blonde choked on his current gulp of liquor, spluttering slightly. "Very much a vampire. Go fish."

"Oh!" Buffy cried, thrusting a finger into the air in an 'aha!' moment. "He was crying."

"Was not!" his indignation was met by immediate skepticism from the others.

"And he was suicidal," Buffy added.

"Okay, _that's_ a lie. I was just... gonna lie down on the grass and catch the sunrise." He grumbled to himself and focused on his drink.

The brunette crowed with glee, actually strutting a bit towards his other half. "Strong versus the weak, mate. He's all black and blued to hell. Obviously I got all the fighting skills between the two of us."

"But you both kept the trait of being thieves," Giles grumbled.

"Actually, I can vouch that his fighting skills are pretty superb," Buffy shook her head. "We did a slay-and-flay just before we came here."

"I don't get it, then," Anya said. "Maybe the hair's a clue?"

"Blonde and brunette? I don't get it," Xander said. "Oh wait! Good and evil, maybe? Geez, kind of a stretch to think that Spike might have enough good in him to constitute a whole 'nother being."

"Love," the blonde murmured.

"Wassat?"

Spike laughed a little, cupping the bottle with both hands. "I'm a cosmic joke, see? Full of love, and there isn't a soul who so much as likes me. Funny."

Xander made a face. "Ew much? Don't get all weepy on us, Blondie."

"Hate to break it to you, but that's not love, it's just lust," the brunette said wisely to his counterpart. "And maybe a bit too much drink."

"Nah, I mean love like affection. Like a parent whose kid scrapes a knee, an' they just want to kiss it better. Okay, hungry now, too."

"Concurring on the ew," Buffy said. "So we've got a sort-of-good, kind of emotionally wrecked Spike, and..." she looked at the brunette. "Not seeing much difference from the original with that one. Now what?"

Xander smirked. "Now I weigh the appeal of picking on Spike until he cries."

"I'd knock your block off sooner than you could say 'boo-hoo'," the blonde threatened in a dry tone.

"Chip aside, what about your affection for me?" Xander teased.

"It melts faster than a snowball in hell every time you open your fat gob."

"Spike, shut up. Xander, don't provoke Spike – either of them. Okay? We need to come up with a plan."

Spike fiddled with the bottle in his hands, and watched the port swirl around inside, smiling to himself. He had a plan. Find more booze. Drink all the booze. Pass out. Pray to wake up back in Non's dungeon.

He took another long drink, as if he might never taste another drop of liquor again. That could be the case, for all he knew. But maybe if he got drunk enough, he could at least pretend that Illyria still loved him. He was still trying to see how that whole shopping fantasy played out. Waffle makers, and what else? Maybe take the little missus out dress shopping. That was a good one. She could twirl around, all proud and gorgeous no matter what swath of fabric she chose. Christ, he was getting a little nutty.

The gang went on without him, glad to have at least one of the vampires silent.

"Suppose Toth is indeed back," Giles said, "or a demon equal to his power. It would make sense, as you've pointed out... like the Xander incident, these two Spikes seems to have a different set of personalities. One a bit callous, the other more... I am not using the word "sensitive" to describe a vampire. At any rate, he'll ultimately be after you once again, Buffy. I think our most pressing course of action would be to find Toth and figure out a way to permanently end this threat."

"Okay, I agree," Buffy said. "Is there anything we can do to track him, or get a couple steps ahead of him? I mean, if I go out on foot looking for him, he might just whammy me, too. Seeing the dilemma?"

"Well, we know that fertility gods are useless," Anya said, earning a scowl from Giles.

"It won't be hard to fix Spike, in the meantime," Willow said.

"Let's not focus on that right now," Buffy said.

"But we should!" Willow insisted. "I'll brush up on the spell, maybe figure out a way to make it quicker. That way if Toth hits you or anyone else, we can maybe fix you really quick!"

"That's a good idea," the brunette Spike agreed, trying too hard to sound sincere. Really, he just wanted his embarrassing twin the hell out of there.

Willow smiled, decided, and began to look for the spell she had used before. "It'll be easy-peasy."


	8. Fun and Games

**Chapter 8: In which Spike decides to just have fun while he's in Sunnydale, and we stop off just before the dream crashes.**

**Reviews make my heart sing.**

* * *

"I don't understand why it isn't working." Willow paced nervously, and tossed a handful of herbs at the pair of vampires, trying to urge the spell to work.

The brunette Spike growled and fidgeted, reluctant to stand next to his double. "If you tell me to close my eyes and believe in magic one more time, I swear..."

"You swear nothing. Shut up," the blonde muttered.

The gang stared at the vampires, trying to figure out what to do. Willow had set up the candles, the layout, had them stand up side-by-side and close their eyes. She'd said the magic words, and nothing happened. Tried again, and nothing. Looked at the books again, adjusted her settings, made the vampires switch around, pulled out all of her tricks, held hands with Tara to strengthen her power, and still nothing.

The blonde Spike didn't bother to tell her that the spell wasn't going to work, ever. He considered it, but then thought of all the consequences, and all of the shit he didn't want to explain. He focused on his buzz instead and played dumb.

It was actually starting to make him pretty happy that they sincerely thought this was a Toth thing. He could just barely curb the urge to burst into laughter. Moments ago, he was sure he was going to be staked. Or worse – that they would really truss him up and interrogate him, force him to reveal the truth, treat him like some imposter. Instead, they just figured that they had two Spikes, and he was given the same treatment as the other. It made things so much simpler. Now he really was part of the gang again, only as one of their weekly mysteries to solve.

What intrigued him the most was actually himself. He felt a connection to the other vampire, and the longer he stayed close to him, the stronger it became. He wondered if the brunette felt it too, and guessed from the occasional look that he did. It was like being in the company of family again, but less craziness from Dru or sadistic bull from Angelus. He really, really wanted to share a drink with himself, and the bizarre idea of that made him feel even more unhinged.

"Maybe they have to get along better," Anya suggested. "Xander and Xander were like the best of friends when we put them back together."

"That's true," Buffy agreed.

"Fat chance," the brunette rolled his eyes, feeling stupid. "We hate each other."

"I don't hate you."

"Oh, right. You're the loving one. Frigging bleedin' heart nancy boy beside me. Stake me now."

"Buck up," the blonde teased, turning and grabbing the other by the chin, planting a hard kiss on his lips. He laughed at the other's confusion, and ignored Xander's overly loud noises of disgust. Maybe it was the alcohol he'd worked hard to chug down, or maybe he'd had too much brain damage over the last few years, but he really wanted to treat this as a vacation. "If I were you, I'd be tripping over myself to be with another vampire. And hey, I am you, so I should know. Nothing is getting solved tonight. Come on, we can let the children sort this out on their own and go do vampire stuff in the meantime."

"Yeah, like what?" Spike spluttered, wiping at his mouth.

"I dunno. Fighting, biting, duh? We'll make a go of it tonight, you and me. I'll show you who's the weakling. Or a rousing game of truth or dare if you prefer? It's your choice."

"Yeah, not gonna happen. Chip, remember?"

"Demon, remember? We can fight each other. If you beat me... if," Spike repeated, laughing lightly again, "then I'll let you bite me. Not that you're gonna win in a million years. But if you're a very, very good boy – like you share and share alike with the blood stash? Then I'll probably let you win at least once."

"Bit cocky, mate!" Spike jabbed the blonde in the chest. "I could have you face down in your own blood in ten seconds flat."

Spike grinned. He'd like that – if the younger one could actually do it. "You're on, then. Hope you have liquor? Lots of nosh?"

"'Course."

"Hey," Buffy interrupted. "You guys aren't going anywhere."

"We'll be fine," the brunette said. "I mean, I'll smash his face in like a walnut, but aside from that. Not like we can hurt anyone human."

"I wish I could see that," Xander said. "Watching Spike beat the snot out of himself? Priceless."

"As much as I want to disapprove," Giles began, "it is getting late, and we've made no progress. One Spike is harmless enough, two of them will only cause damage to each other and headaches for us if they stay here. Let them go on, Buffy."

The blonde went to Willow. "Don't worry about us for the mo'. You're a great little spell-caster; you got bigger things to worry about." He planted a quick kiss on her forehead, and then before jealousy arose, did the same to Tara. Both witches blushed, and Spike ducked away before Buffy's anger caught up with her.

"Let's go," he pulled at the brunette's wrists. "Drinking first, yes? It's so much more fun if we're sloshed."

"You're halfway there," the brunette commented before the two slipped off into the night. The blonde's excitement was a little contagious. When the moon fell on them, and the lights of the town faded off, Spike fully remembered what it was like to be in the company of another powerful vampire. It sent a thrill through his spine.

"Great, they're already doing the creepy bonding thing," Buffy groaned and rubbed at her face.

"Did Spike... actually give me a compliment? And... a kiss?" Willow shook herself. "Not sure if I like the new side of Spike."

"I know I don't," Tara said softly, rubbing her thumb over the spot where the vampire had kissed Willow. They shared a private smile.

"I guess I'm glad that those two are occupied. Makes things quieter here, at least. We can put back whatever's left of them come tomorrow night. First things first, we need look into Toth a little more closely," Buffy said, following the red herring.

* * *

They downed the last of Spike's liquor, the brunette taking a greater portion in order to catch up with his counterpart. Blood was shared from an assortment of glass jars, each vampire downing the liquid without tasting. There was no pleasure in that fluid – only something resembling nourishment. They were each focused on other things, things that would be happening a few minutes into the future. Hard punches and kicks, the exquisite pain of broken bones, the celebrated spilling of vampire blood, the satisfaction of victory.

Spike paced restlessly around his younger counterpart's crypt while they drank, waiting for the unspoken moment when their fighting would be fair to begin. The place was like his had been in every way, but there was just something about it that made it all feel fake to him, like a Hollywood set. This wasn't _his_ past, and these weren't _his_ things, even if they were technically identical.

He was trying to work out how this was possible. He and this other version of himself were very similar, granted. But they were clearly already different. Maybe their pasts were even one in the same, but they were taking different paths in life. Several years into the future, the other version of himself could be dust, or back together with Drusilla, or riding space dragons or some shit.

"Enough with the brooding," the brunette said, almost audibly rolling his eyes in annoyance. "I'd almost believe the shit about Toth if I didn't know for a fact that no way in hell is any part of me is such a broody bastard."

Spike looked at himself, impressed, and swallowed a mouthful of blood before speaking. "You gonna tell them, then?"

"Nah." The brunette rubbed a thumb over a bottle of brandy. "If you were evil, it's not like I'd care," he lied, "but don't think it's necessary. You're the genuine article. I can sense it. Lord knows I can smell it. You almost smell like me. Just can't figure out where the hell you're from. And I don't suppose you'll tell me, either. The truth is just too ruddy complicated, isn't it?"

Spike nodded. "Easier to lie. Buffy would probably stake me before I could ever get her to understand."

"Without hesitation. So, you serious about wanting to fight? 'Cause I don't plan on taking it easy, an' I don't want to watch myself sob like a baby if I so much as break your nose."

"Heh." Spike set down his glass of blood. "I'm ready."

* * *

A trail of blood covered the floor by the time the vampires were done with their seventh match.

The fights had gone from all-out one-on-one vampire wars, to simpler contests of wrestling. Each time one managed to pin the other, the winner claimed victory by biting into the other's throat.

Blood loss was making the brunette weaker, more dazed. His throat was ravaged with bite marks. To an outsider, the wound would look fatal and gruesome. To them, the smell of blood was overwhelming in ways that were the opposite of sickening. After several wins, Spike decided to let the brunette win once, just to take a break, to stroke the ego of the other, to keep the game going.

The fights grew shorter. More damage was done from stumbling against hard stone rather than actual punches. Spike moved them downstairs into bed, anticipating the younger vampire's exhaustion. The pretense of fighting dropped, and they shared blood instead. Spike pulled the younger vampire into his arms and sucked at each ragged wound on his neck - sucking, feeding, licking, and cleaning.

His victory was had.

The blonde released Spike, letting him sink onto the mattress.

The brunette took an unnecessary breath, wondering if it would clear the buzz from his head, but hoping it wouldn't. He was totally spent, but even the bruises felt amazing. It had been years - years since he'd fought for fun with a vampire. Years since anyone had fed from his neck with his permission. Harmony had never been allowed. It was too... intimate. Just being near another vampire was addictive. It was like their similar blood longed to be together.

His thoughts were distracted by the sharp scent of fresh blood. He perked his head up, and the blonde's bloodied wrist came to his face. Spike didn't hesitate at the offer, latching onto the pale wrist and sucking hard, eager to take back what had been stolen from him repeatedly.

It was... different somehow. Had it just been such a long time since he'd had something besides pig's blood? The blood seemed stronger, full of power, almost like how he remembered when drank from Angelus, or even a Slayer's blood. The buzzing moved from his head into his body, clearing out his lethargy, bringing him back.

He sat up fully, dropping the wrist, and sank his fangs into the blonde's neck instead. The other vampire didn't shove him off, but stretched to give him better access, and wrapped his arms around him, keeping them close together.

Shit. This was incredible. Another vampire. He could feel and taste the other's power. It was being shared with him willingly. Another body was embracing him, holding him tight, petting him, shit, clawing at his hair.

The bloodletting continued, now officially initiated. They shed their clothes, neither having to ask the other. It was as if they had the same thought - that the blood would get lost to the fabric. That pale, flawless skin needed to be marked.

One of them found a knife. They each cut, letting blood drip from one to the other's skin, pool onto their bellies, and make crimson trails. Not a drop was wasted - all were sought out with hungry mouths, played with, and licked up. They each forgot which Spike was which, only seeking to spill more blood for the other.

Hours later, the lust for blood wore off into a lust for sleep. They could both feel the incoming heat of morning, even underground.

Spike licked at healing wounds for a long time, no longer feeding, but instead soothing them. A purring strummed at the air, but neither knew which it was from.

The brunette pulled a sheet over them, and entangled himself with his double, lying on top of the other vampire. He didn't want to fall asleep, so as not to lose this moment to the relentless stream of time. It was too blissful, though – sleep, deep and inviting, seduced him as readily as the promise of blood.

* * *

Spike was woken by the stir of something in the crypt. He lifted his head, amused to find that his position with the brunette had swapped, and the younger vampire was now underneath him, the bed sheet now rumpled around their waists. He stretched, and laid on his belly, propped up on his elbows, waiting for something interesting to happen.

He saw Xander's sneakers come down the ladder first, and watched silently, amused, while the boy adjusted to the darkness of the underground room.

"Spike...s?" Xander called out quietly, squinting a little. His eyes began to adjust, and he walked into the dark.

Spike just continued to watch, resting his chin on a hard chest and waiting for the boy to catch up.

"Oh, you're up... uh... you're... he's... still asleep?"

"Wore him out," Spike answered in a low voice. "What's up, pet? Witch got her spell together?"

"Buffy wanted me to... to... get you guys. Expected the blood upstairs. Did not expect the nudity. Ew. Ew. Naked Spike is bad, but naked Spikes? Very naked, very homoerotic things happening here."

Spike snorted. "I'd invite you to join us, but all the whinging is just a turn-off, and besides, he don't like you."

"World of no!"

"Shh. Gotta keep your voice down."

"Euh? Stop petting him – yourself – like that. This is messed up, I'm leaving."

"But Buffy sent you with a message," Spike reminded him, making Xander skid to a stop.

"Yeah, she said... Stop that! Now I know you're just trying to..."

"Trying to what? I'm listening, go on. You're gonna wake him with your girly noises."

"You're purposely trying to freak me out, Blondie."

"Dunno what you're talking about. This is just normal vampire stuff."

"We're meeting at the Magic Box soon," Xander said, quick to spit out the basic message and leave. "For the love of Pete, show up with clothes on."

* * *

"Did you get them to come?"

"WHAT?"

Buffy blinked, surprised by Xander's outburst. "I asked you if they're coming. Jeez, touchy much?"

"Er, yeah," Xander said. "I mean, they're planning on showing up. Sorry, it's just... two Spikes. Wish you hadn't sent me."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. As she recalled, Xander was the one who had volunteered to go and, as she recalled, 'see if Spike beat the crap out of himself.'

"Aw, Xander," Willow cooed. "What did they do to you?"

"Huh? Nothing. Nothing. It's just creepy." Xander sat down and focused on chewing his nails.

"Don't worry, we'll fix it," Willow assured him. "We're all on the side of having _less_ evil vampires running around. I looked at that spell over and over again, and I'm sure I won't mess it up this time."

"Now it's just a matter of finding Toth," Giles said.

"The usual haunts are free of tall, robey demons," Buffy said. "I already shook all the trees in town, and of all the big uglies that went flying out, none of them were remotely Toth-like."

"Does Toth fly?"

Buffy frowned and ignored Anya's misunderstanding of the metaphor.

Giles checked his watch and sighed impatiently. "Did you not tell them a time, Xander?"

"I don't remember. I told them 'soon'," Xander said. "Hey, you weren't there. You don't know what it was like."

"I'm sure the chipped vampires were quite abusive to you," Giles patronized, "but they are our only lead."

"Unless Toth already got to them, and they're –" the jingle of the shop bell cut Buffy off, and she turned to see the vampires in question come into the shop. "Here," she finished, pretending that she hadn't just begun to worry. "It's about time."

"Had to drag my better half all the way here," the blonde answered. "So what's on the agenda? You gonna take another stab at smushing us back together?" and lord, he hoped that wouldn't really work somehow, because that'd be a clusterfuck.

"Um, yeah," Willow answered, coming to the vampires and leading both of them by the sleeves to where she had set up a spell. "But first, we need to do a different spell."

"I don't like all this spell casting," brunette Spike commented, reluctantly standing where Willow placed him.

"I know what I'm doing," Willow promised him, but Spike was unconvinced. "We need to try this spell before I put you back together. See..." she went a short distance, grabbing a rolled piece of paper, and then came back. "This is a map of Sunnydale." She unrolled the paper onto the floor and pinned the corners down with large crystals. It was indeed an aerial-view layout of the entire town, and some surrounding territory. "While Toth's magic is working to keep the two halves of you separate, you're connected to him. Soo, I'm thinking that with a little ritual, I can pick up on that magic and trace it straight back to Toth's lair. Then Buffy can go do the slice-and-dice thing and I can put you back together properly. Pretty good, right?"

"Clever girl," Spike praised. Too bad he knew very well that this wouldn't work, because Toth had bollocks to do with this mess.

"Bear with me, I've got a couple of different wordings to try in case the first doesn't work," Willow told them, picking up another piece of paper, this one a torn scrap with a few different little spells written down.

"I really wish demons would stay dead," Buffy mused aloud. "Things used to be so much simpler."

"You have no idea," Spike agreed.

"Okay, shush. Trying this now," Willow said. She stretched her shoulders and wiggled her fingers at them at little, then cleared her throat.

_Goddess Iris, hear my plea_

_Bring information back to me_

_Trace this magic to the root_

_Show us the source, help our pursuit_

They waited. Everyone actually seemed to hold their breath, watching for the magic to take hold. The brunette Spike tapped his foot, and then finally huffed.

"Looks like it's not working. Back-up plan?"

"I don't get it," Willow frowned. "I thought that was my best one. Maybe I've lost my touch?"

"Not your fault," the blonde vampire said, actually feeling a little bad for the witch.

"Oh, wait! I forgot to do the thing. Duh. Okay, one more time." Willow recited the spell again, and then grabbed a satchel, taking out a handful of powder and blowing it the vampires.

Xander tried not to laugh. Spike tried not to look pissed. The dust had to be about 90% glitter, and now the shit was all over his–

"Whoa." He'd started to glow. That, or the room was getting brighter. Guessing by the stares, it was just him. Then it started to burn a bit. More like a lot. _Okay, ow. Holy fuck, ow. What did the little witch do?_

The brunette glanced at his hands, waiting for the glow to affect him, too, but it didn't catch. Only the blonde version of himself, only the strange one, was lit up by that blue light. Just as soon as it started onto him, it shot out and onto the map on the floor, illuminating one spot.

"Wow, okay," Willow said. She stooped to take a better look at the map while it still glowed. Little dots of white light began to surface. "I don't get it... they're everywhere."

"The spell is showing us other vampires," Tara said wisely.

"What?" Buffy pushed forward to look. Dots of light covered the map, moving slowly. "Willow, I hate to say it, but you did the spell wrong."

"But it should –!" Willow stopped, noticing one dot that turned a rich, icy blue and stood out from the others. "Look."

Spike looked. Both Spikes looked, but only one really saw and suspected what it was.

The dot of light grew larger, pooling in energy from the glow until it lit up the entire map.

"It's there," Willow said, pleased. "It's gotta be... wow..."

The light didn't stop growing. It became larger and brighter until just being a "dot" was too hard. It swallowed the entire map with its glow, making the other lights on the map disappear like night stars against the morning sun.

"It's powerful, Buffy," Willow said fearfully. "Too powerful. It's..."

And the glow went away, like a switch had been flicked to 'off'.

They all blinked, finding themselves a little blinded from the incredible light. It took several long seconds for them to realize that the spell had not broken. The map was still aglow with many little white dots that moved all around, showing the undead population of Sunnydale.. It was only that mysterious blue dot that had vanished.

"Willow," Buffy said again, "I hate to say it, but you did the spell wrong."

The red-haired witch pouted. "That was weird."

"We gonna try this again, or did you botch the whole-" their Spike was interrupted by the blonde counterpart falling to his knees and grabbing at the map, pulling it closer to him.

"Where was that?" Spike ran his eyes over all of the streets and buildings, jabbing his finger at where he thought the blue dot had first appeared. The map was so small... Sunnydale was too big... which street exactly had it been? He couldn't recall if he'd ever been to that part of Sunnydale at all. Street names didn't seem familiar. It could have been a place he visited hundreds of times – his mind was suddenly just a rush of thoughts of her. She was here. In Sunnydale.

Buffy scrunched her nose in confusion. "Why? What is it?"

"My little blue box." Spike nearly laughed, but couldn't. He didn't bother to explain the inside joke – Illyria being his TARDIS and all. He scrambled to his feet in a most undignified way, grabbed a pen from somewhere, and circled the spot on the map.

Spike became aware that he was grinning a little too much. He didn't care, except for one thing.

"Bye," he said, rushing to give Buffy a kiss, and then duck off before she could break his jaw for it. He stopped at Willow, grabbing her shoulders. "You're bloody brilliant, you know that?"

He dashed off after that, leaving in a whirlwind, running so fast that even Buffy couldn't spot where he'd gone off to. To be honest, he wasn't sure where he was heading. Sure, he knew the name of some street, and a rough idea of how to get there. All that was certain was that he was going back to the arms of his girl. Or her fist, at least. Okay, she left him, so he'd have to give her a good punch in the face to at least pretend that he was all aloof and unwilling to just crawl back to her. She'd take offense of course, and give him a little grief as well before he'd allow himself to be talked into forgiving her. He had a mental image of her boot on his head, and her cold voice telling him that she would not apologize. Hell, he could deal with that.

Where they'd end up next he couldn't begin to guess. Could be past, present, or future. Could be among demons, or among merfolk for all he knew. Didn't care in the slightest, even if he ended up trapped in a world of darkness for six eons. He'd have his girl again.


	9. Herring

...

She wasn't there.

...

* * *

...

He looked. Honest-to-the-Powers-That-Be, he searched for her. He tore everything upside-down, looked high and low, even tried to kill a few demons for information, but scared them so badly instead that they probably ran all the way to Texas.

No one had seen her. He couldn't find a trace of her. He'd gotten it wrong. Willow's spell was really a flop after all. He'd only seen what he wanted to see. Got his hopes all up – and absolutely dashed them to pieces.

Spike sat down on a curb in the middle of this fuck-all crap neighborhood, in this zombie town that wasn't even _his_ town.

Everything here was just wrong.

Seemed like the perfect place to finally greet the sun and end his miserable life, then.

"That spot open, or you saving it for someone?"

Spike didn't bother to look up. He knew his own voice well enough.

"It's reserved."

The brunette slumped a bit.

"Only stupid old gits like me can sit here."

The brunette smirked a little and sat down beside himself. Still sort of surreal, but if he didn't think too hard about what it might look like, his brain didn't want to explode. He didn't say anything, just lit up a cigarette. When the blonde finally took his head out of his hands, tears very pointedly nowhere in sight, he offered the other vampire a fag as well, and they both smoked in silence for a few minutes.

"How'd you find me?"

"Heh." The brunette let a puff of smoke go into the pre-dawn sky. "Wasn't hard. Stayed at the shop for a while after you'd bolted. Even went home and had a snack. Your blood was still there. I could... sense you, in a weird way. Sort of like knowing what was going on inside your head. Things didn't seem right. You didn't seem so happy anymore. Came to check. Geez, that makes me sound like a ninny."

"I'm the one that's made a complete arse of myself."

Spike smoked for a while, considering this. "Nah. They already thought you were an odd one. I told 'em you were off to find some hidden pirate treasure or something. They went back to beating Red up about how to find Toth."

"I should tell them those spells won't ever work," Spike sighed. "But..."

"It's a good distraction," Spike finished, knowingly. "I don't expect you to tell me, but a clue would be nice. 'Cause sometimes I think, 'geez, shapeshifter maybe?'"

"Not sure if it's a good thing to tell you or not," Spike admitted. He scratched at his blonde hair, thinking for a while. "The Toth idea is so close. 'Cause we're the same, you and I. But not really. Very, very close to being the same, I think. Hey. Do you remember something..." he paused, wondering if he really wanted to ask. "When we were a kid. This servant girl that mum had for a while. She was a strange one, right? Pretty and young, but strange and old at the same time."

"I don't think so," the brunette shook his head and sucked at the cigarette.

"Oh." Spike fiddled with his own cigarette, finding himself actually reluctant to take another drag. Reluctant to be seduced by the restraints of this world again. A world without so much chaos, a world where the strongest girl in his life didn't even love him enough yet to beat him to a bloody pulp. A world where he already knew that he would not be loved. A world he had already seen destroyed.

"Wait. Yeah," Spike said slowly. "How did I forget her?" He was quiet for a moment, thinking. "She was bloody gorgeous. All brown hair and beautiful skin. She told us stories about monsters and sang weird lullabies..."

"Kissed our scraped knees."

"Was she a vampire?" the brunette looked at his double. "I never even thought of that, but it makes sense, don't it? She was an odd one. Seemed too old on the inside, like you said, but never changed on the outside. And those stories, that weird language she sang."

Spike merely smiled to himself, marveling at the revelation and the enjoying the shared memory.

"So you remember China? Prague? Acathala?"

Spike nodded slowly at each one, while the brunette cursed softly.

"So, time travel, huh?" the brunette asked nonchalantly.

"Not exactly. But I think I get it now," the blonde said. "What this is. How we relate. We've got the same past, but we don't share the same future."

"How can you tell?"

Spike flicked the other vampire's brown hair. "You're already on a different path."

"Right. Bugger. Now what?"

"Now nothing. I'm stuck here. I didn't take it seriously until now." And he hadn't, until the moment where he couldn't find Illyria, and he realized just how screwed he was. "Fucking stuck in Sunnydale again. Not like I particularly want to go home, anyway. I'd be dead inside a week."

"A week, really? Not bloody likely."

"Okay, well I could probably find the strongest demon lord around and go jump on his dick."

"Death it is, then." The brunette shook his head and stubbed his cigarette out on the sidewalk. "How about not here and now, though?" He grabbed his morose double under the arms and dragged him to his feet. "Don't know what future you been living in, but sunshine and vamps don't mix well, and I can't challenge a pile of dust to a rematch."

Spike snorted a little, amused as he was pulled off to a shadowy building. "You're actually interested in saving my hide?"

"Well shit, mate," the brunette paused to kick in the door of an abandoned building. "We're one in the same, can't deny it. If we weren't, I'd probably have staked you meself a long time ago. If you're going to be all suicidal, at least go out with dignity. Grab the Slayer's tits or something so she'll off you."

"Dignity is the word for that, is it?" Spike teased.

"Bloody hell, but you know it'd be a decent way to go," the brunette answered, forcing the other vampire into the building and securing the front as well as he could.

"It stinks in here."

"No time for house-hunting, sweetums. You're the one who went to Slummydale and stayed until the sun threatened to come up."

"Yeah, I know. You gonna lay down with me or what?"

"That's a closet."

"S'all there is in here. Sunlight won't reach even if the doors and windows broke in. Don't make me sleep alone."

"Christ, but you're a needy bastard. I hope I don't end up like you."

"All I want is to use you for a pillow. Besides, you like it."

"Been on my own long enough. I prefer it."

"No, you don't."

"Shove over a bit." The brunette settled in next to the other vampire. Even though the blonde had said it, it was the brunette who ended up resting his head on the other's shoulder, like a pillow. Despite being in a rickety old building in the middle of someone else's territory, Spike felt safer than he had in a long time. Curled up together this way, they both slept soundly until nightfall.

* * *

A few days passed before the vampires bothered to return to the company of the humans, and then it was only because Anya was sent to the crypt to persuade them.

"There's supposed to be a meeting tonight," Anya said to them.

One Spike was sitting in an armchair that still faintly smelled of the dump it had been found in. He had a bottle of whiskey in one hand, but didn't seem to be interested in seriously drinking it. The other Spike was on the floor, apparently fashioning some sort of weapon, judging by the blades. She'd forgotten which Spike was which.

"Giles says that it's important for everyone to be there. But personally, I'd skip it. I know, I'm not very persuasive," Anya kept talking even though neither vampire so much as acknowledged her existence. "They sent me because Buffy was all 'ick, two Spikes' and Xander thinks that you're gay for each other. But to be honest, I don't care about the meeting and I don't think either of you are 'ick'. So you wanna skip the meeting and have a threesome instead?"

* * *

Neither Spike had ever made the trip to the Magic Box so quickly. They entered, actually eager for the meeting for once, ignoring a disappointed Anya who was right on their heels.

"Whoa, they do live," Xander joked. "So to speak."

"Giving it another go?" the blonde questioned, eying the selection of herbs and candles that were laid out on the table, as well as various books.

"Hm? Oh... no," Willow shook her head, distracted. "Magic isn't working right now."

"What?" Spike blinked. The statement itself broke his brain as much as the matter-of-fact way that she said it. "How do you break magic?"

"We think it has to do with the new Big Bad in town," Buffy said.

"Huh. Crazy wizard?" the brunette vampire asked.

"Not so much," Buffy folded her arms. "We can't really figure out what she is. I asked around and demons are calling her an Old One, but she looks like a human girl."

"Which is impossible," Anya put in helpfully, "because not only have they been dead forever, but Old Ones are your super-huge brand of original flavor demons. Not remotely human shaped or sized."

If Spike had a blood flow, he would have gone even paler than his normal complexion. He could not let Buffy fight Illyria. Weapons and mysticism had not stopped her before. Even Wesley's little draining trick had barely taken the edge off of her power. She had fought a dragon for fun, for crying out loud. Buffy was not that strong. Not yet, anyway.

"So they're lying," Buffy said, "or being lied to. But whatever she is, she's working massive mojo and blocking up anything Willow tries to do. Demons and vamps are terrified of her. They're actually fleeing town, or at least laying low. But others are even worshiping her. The last thing we need around here is an army."

"Alright, so what's the plan, commander?" the brunette Spike asked her.

"No clue," Buffy said. "Giles is researching everything he can, but there isn't much to go on. I've heard that she can rip a demon apart with her bare hands. So far all I know for sure is that she has a mean punch."

"I don't think you should fight her," the blonde Spike finally spoke. "I mean, if she's being compared to Old Ones... that's beyond all of us."

"And what do you suggest?" Giles questioned.

"Give her what she wants," Spike said, feeling a bit embarrassed to say such a thing. "Unless what she wants is the end the world."

Buffy glanced at her friends while the brunette Spike began to protest and loudly explain why they absolutely should not give her anything but a kick in the face. Spike waited for the slayer to call him out on his apparent cowardice as well, but her lack of anger was even more chilling than the fury he anticipated.

"You sure?" Buffy finally asked him. "'Cause what she wants is you."

Him? Spike turned to hide his bewilderment, afraid that his face might betray his emotions. Illyria was here, in Sunnydale, raising hell. She wanted him back? Maybe she only wanted to force him to kneel at her feet again. Maybe she intended to conquer this world, lay waste to entire civilizations, and brutally slay all of his friends in front of his eyes just to tell him that he belonged to her alone. He wasn't sure what was more terrifying – the possibility of these things happening, or the little part of him that actually loved the idea of someone wanting him so much.

_"What_ now?" the brunette Spike interrupted, actually laughing. "You're kidding, Slayer."

"No. She told me she was looking for a vampire. She said – and this is just be_yond_ creepy – that she could smell him on me, and that she was 'letting' me live just so I could tell you to surrender."

The brunette wiped a tear of laughter away from his eye. "That's a good one. Really, some crazy bint with a hard-on for us? What do you think?" he looked to his double, and realized that the blonde wasn't laughing in the slightest. "Mate?"

"You know her, Spike?" Buffy asked, continuing to stare at the blonde.

Spike finally turned back to face them. "Should've told you from the start, but it's just hard to explain. I'm not him. I mean, this isn't a Toth thing or anything like that."

Buffy didn't even blink. "We already figured that out."

Spike stared at her for a moment, disbelieving that she wasn't trying to stake him by now. He gave a small, embarrassed smile. "Of course. You'd think after all this time I would've learned that I could never get anything past you lot. How'd you figure it?"

"Tara mentioned it after the putting-back-together spell didn't work the second time," Willow said. "She can sense people's auras and stuff sometimes. She said that yours was way too different from the Spike we knew."

Tara nodded. "You've changed a lot. So... am I right? You're from an alternate timeline?"

"Yeah. I guess that's how you'd label it. You knew all this time?"

"Duh," Buffy said.

"And you didn't stake me?"

"Why should I? Tara said you weren't evil, and you've been keeping Spike out of our hair. That's a win-win." Buffy ignored the annoyed looks from the vampires and went back to business. "So this demon chick... what does she want with you? Because I'm not gonna let you go to her and get chopped into pieces."

"No, she's learned that I'm more fun intact," Spike answered. "What she wants is my undivided attention. What she'll do for it is another story. Hard to tell these days if she'll break my bones or chain me to a bed."

"Ew much?" Buffy made a face.

"Look, just don't fight with her. Trust me, Blue is one tough bird. Let me talk her down."

Buffy frowned. "What did you call her?"

"Blue?"

"Why do you call her that?"

"'Cause her hair and skin are blue," Spike said, giving Buffy a 'duh' look.

"Her hair was black and red."

"No, love, Illyria is blue."

"She was red."

"Illyria is blue," Spike repeated.

"She didn't call herself Illyria," Buffy realized. "She said... what was it again?"

"Nyzaru?" Willow said. "We couldn't find an Old One by that name."

"Bloody hell," Spike sat down heavily. "She's not mine."

Buffy rubbed her hands on her knees. "So I guess that begs the question again, what does she want with you?"

"I bleedin' hope that she wants to chop me to pieces," Spike muttered, but already knew that the universe never gave him what he wanted.

"Well, there's something about you that she likes," Buffy said. "Or something she really hates."

"Yeah. Well, I'd better go, then."

"Go?" Buffy grabbed Spike to stop him from leaving. "I don't know what goes on in your Bizarro-world reality, but here we don't exactly give the bad guys what they want on a silver platter."

"It's not like I have much choice," Spike said. "You've never even seen an Old One. I've lived with one. Even in human form, she could slaughter all of your friends within seconds. So do me a favor and don't even get involved."

"Uh-huh. And what about you?"

"What _about_ me? It's not like I belong here. Couldn't pick a better place to die, though. Chin up, Slayer. I'm nothing to you – you've still got me right over there, whole world of possibilities ahead of him. This is my issue, 'kay?"

Spike turned and left, imagining the twirling duster effect behind him. Kind of impossible when he'd lost his duster back in Non's world of death, but he was wearing Angel's shirt still, so that was fitting with the whole martyr hero bit. That was his last thought before hard blackness crashed over him.


End file.
